


astrobleme

by prufrock



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Cocaine, Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Facial Shaving, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Paranoia, Psychiatric Inventories, References to Drugs, Road Trips, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 19:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20314510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prufrock/pseuds/prufrock
Summary: Luke 15:24: "For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found."It’s late summer 1992, and Tony’s just gotten out of rehab. Rhodey helps him drive cross-country back to New York. Along the way, Tony stresses.





	astrobleme

> **Brief Addiction Monitor (BAM) **
> 
> **Participant ID:** 3928460
> 
> **Date:** 8/19/92 
> 
> **Interviewer ID (Clinician Initials):** PGH
> 
> _ Instructions: This is a standard set of questions about several areas of your life such as your health, alcohol and drug use, etc. The questions generally ask about the past 30 days. Please consider each question and answer as accurately as possible. _
> 
>   1. **** In the past 30 days, how would you say your physical health has been? _<strike>Very good</strike> __Fair_
>   2. **** In the past 30 days, how many nights did you have trouble falling asleep or staying asleep? _30_
>   3. **** In the past 30 days, how many days have you felt depressed, anxious, angry or very upset throughout most of the day? _30_
>   4. **** In the past 30 days, how many days did you drink ANY alcohol? _30_
>   5. **** In the past 30 days, how many days did you have at least 5 drinks (if you are a man) or at least 4 drinks (if you are a woman)? _30_
>   6. **** In the past 30 days, how many days did you use any illegal or street drugs or abuse any prescription medications? _30_
>   7. **** In the past 30 days, how many days did you use marijuana (cannabis, pot, weed)? _ 20 _
>   8. In the past 30 days, how many days did you use sedatives and/or Tranquilizers (benzos, Valium, Xanax, Ativan, Ambien, barbs, Phenobarbital, downers, etc.)? _ 30_
>   9. In the past 30 days, how many days did you use cocaine and/or Crack? _ 30_
>   10. In the past 30 days, how many days did you use other Stimulants (amphetamine, methamphetamine, Dexedrine, Ritalin, Adderall, speed, crystal meth, ice, etc.)? _ Unsure _
>   11. In the past 30 days, how many days did you use opiates (Heroin, Morphine, Dilaudid, Demerol, Oxycontin, oxy, codeine (Tylenol 2,3,4), Percocet, Vicodin, Fentanyl, etc.)? _ 10_
>   12. In the past 30 days, how many days did you use inhalants (glues, adhesives, nail polish remover, paint thinner, etc.)? _ 00_
>   13. In the past 30 days, how many days did you use other drugs (steroids, non-prescription sleep and diet pills, Benadryl, Ephedra, other over-the-counter or unknown medications)? _ Unsure_
>   14. In the past 30 days, how much were you bothered by cravings or urges to drink alcohol or use drugs? _Considerably_
>   15. **** How confident are you that you will NOT use alcohol and drugs in the next 30 days? _Not at all_
>   16. **** In the past 30 days, how many days did you attend self-help meetings like AA or NA to support your recovery? _00_
>   17. **** In the past 30 days, how many days were you in any situations or with any people that might put you at an increased risk for using alcohol or drugs (i.e., around risky “people, places or things”)? _30_
>   18. **** Does your religion or spirituality help support your recovery? _Not at all_
>   19. **** In the past 30 days, how many days did you spend much of the time at work, school, or doing volunteer work? _30_
>   20. **** Do you have enough income (from legal sources) to pay for necessities such as housing, transportation, food and clothing for yourself and your dependents? _Yes_
>   21. In the past 30 days, how much have you been bothered by arguments or problems getting along with any family members or friends? _<strike>Not at all</strike>__Considerably_
>   22. In the past 30 days, how many days did you contact or spend time with any family members or friends who are supportive of your recovery? _01_
>   23. **** How satisfied are you with your progress toward achieving your recovery goals? _Not at all_

_ california. _

Rhodey’s never known Tony to let anyone else drive, but when he sees the Bronco waiting in the driveway he shrugs and slings the plastic bag with his toothbrush and slippers into the backseat. He settles himself in the passenger seat while Rhodey finishes loading his duffle bag into the back, running down the checklist of medications and matching them to the dull yellow bottles jumbled in the blue backpack. Rhodey hears Tony messing with the dials up front, and then Janet Jackson, and Rhodey slams the door and heads around to the driver’s seat. 

Tony already looks asleep. He’s got his feet up, knees cocked awkwardly against the window, and his hoodie’s pulled up so Rhodey can just see the edge of his scratchy cheek. He’s sleeping all the time right now—Dr. Hansen said it could be a side effect of the Prozac; the therapist said it could be a reaction to a decrease in stress—but when Rhodey starts the engine he jerks upright, scoots back in his seat so he can squint out at the bushes. 

“Ready?” Rhodey asks. Tony rubs a hand over his face and nods, turns up Janet Jackson a little higher. 

“Let’s go.” 

> **Commitment to Sobriety Scale with Self-Efficacy**
> 
> **Participant ID:** 3928460
> 
> **Date:** 8/20/92 
> 
> _ 0= Not at all true ; 1= Slightly untrue; 2= Neither true nor untrue; 3= Slightly true; 4= Very true _
> 
>   1. Staying sober is the most important thing in my life — 1 
>   2. I am totally committed to staying off alcohol/drugs — 2
>   3. I will do whatever it takes to recover from my addiction — 2
>   4. I never want to return to alcohol/drug use again — 0
>   5. I have had enough alcohol and drugs — 0

_arizona. _

They make it to just outside Petrified Forest by night, and Rhodey finds a place called Brad’s Desert Inn with a vacancy sign lit up in salmon-red neon. A wooden sign above the doorway to the office reads “ADVENTURERS WELCOME,” which Tony, who’s been asleep for seven out of the last eight hours and is now wired on three Mountain Dews, finds hilarious. To Rhodey, it feels more like a bad omen, but it’s the only motel open except for the place down the road with the sign that said _ HAVE YOU SLEPT IN A WIGWAM LATELY? _, and that’s a question Rhodey doesn’t need answered. Not tonight. 

The guy at the desk recognizes Tony, which isn’t surprising—he’s the third person today—but this time Tony’s thrilled. Andy, who could be 19 or 35, is wearing a shirt with eagles stitched on the breast pockets and green sunglasses even though it’s 11pm, and he wants to know if it’s true that Tony bought a whole island so he could have a nude beach party without the paparazzi showing up. Tony has to think for a minute, but then he breaks out in a huge grin and signs his autograph on Andy’s day planner. 

Their room is called the Cactus King Suite. Tony, who started breathing hard on the rust-spittled white stairs up to their floor, immediately collapses on the enormous four-poster bed, which emits a small puff of dust from a quilt that Rhodey would bet good money was hand-stitched, probably by Andy’s grandmother. Rhodey sets the luggage down by the door and eases off his shoes, eyeing the shower, which does at least look like it’s been cleaned in the last week, even if the curtain is a color he associates more with snot than with personal hygiene. 

While Tony flips through channels on the dinky TV, Rhodey digs into the blue backpack and pulls out the sheaf of papers the psychiatrist sent with them. He scans over the pages. 

_ REMEMBER: Your loved one may need support in following through with their treatment plan. Following doctors’ recommendations may be difficult for some people with co-occurring disorders for a variety of reasons, such as: _

  * __they may feel demoralized__
  * _they may be unmotivated_
  * _they may have trouble keeping track of appointments_
  * _they may be skeptical about the value of certain services_
  * _they may minimize or deny one or both disorders_

“This room smells like cheese,” Tony says from the bed. He’s propped up on a sandwich of pillows, and in the weird light from the TV the hollows under his eyes look massive, like someone hauled off and broke his brittle cheekbones and the dead blood sank in. Rhodey’s reminded forcibly of the bruises on his neck the first time he visited at Rancho Mirage, the bruises Tony never would explain. 

“Turn on the fan,” he tells Tony. 

_ You can support follow-through by _

  * __helping your loved one remember to take all prescribed medications for one or both disorders __
  * _listening to any concerns about medications — such as their purpose, benefits, and side effects — and helping address those concerns_
  * _making sure appointments with treatment providers are kept_
  * _working with the treatment team to stay informed and help address any issues related to medication_

“Take your meds before you fall asleep,” he calls over to the bed, and Tony waves him away like he’s batting a fly out of his field of vision. “I mean it,” Rhodey says, and he remembers the first day, over a month ago now, Jesus, and Tony panting _ They’re poisoning me, Rhodey, they’re trying to kill me _. 

He gets out the collection of little bottles and lines them up, referencing the paperwork as he knocks tablets out one, two, one, onto a napkin he snagged from next to the ice bucket, which is shaped like a squat cactus. He fills a paper cup with water and brings it all over to Tony, who’s engrossed in a Little Caesar’s commercial. 

“Thanks, Nurse Rhodes,” he says solemnly when Rhodey rattles the napkin at him, but he downs the pills one by one without any added fuss, which Rhodey is grateful for. He settles down on the bed next to Tony and lets the sweet sounds of Letterman wash over him, mingling with the sound of late-season cicadas from the neon-washed parking lot outside. 

He wakes up at 3am, and that’s when he realizes that he fell asleep. It’s also when he realizes he’s alone in the bed, and he only has a few minutes to panic over that before he sees the splash of yellow light cast out of the bathroom onto the wood paneled wall, and Tony’s shadow dipping in and out of the light with hushed curses and the soft, tense drumbeat of socks on tile. Rhodey rolls out of the bed and makes his way over to the bathroom, hesitating at the doorway in case he startles Tony. 

“Hey.” The shadow freezes, then says _ “Fuck _,” and Rhodey rounds the corner to see Tony standing in the middle of the tiny bathroom in his boxers and a T-shirt, Rhodey’s razor gripped in one hand and a bloody washcloth in the other. For a split second, Rhodey’s brain churns out a worst case scenario that has his heart clenching up, but then he sees it’s not that much blood, the cloth’s just wet, and it’s coming from a nick on Tony’s cheek that’s maybe a centimeter long, max. 

Tony saw the look on his face. “It’s fine, Rhodey,” he says, tossing the razor into the sink and swiping at the blood dribbling off his chin into the growing bloom on his shirt. “I was just—it was an accident, I’m not fucking—I couldn’t sleep, and I’ve got all this, this, it’s _ disgusting _ and I want it _ off _ and I can’t fucking sleep anyway but I can’t hold a fucking razor anymore, _ fuck _—” His hands are shaking, and Rhodey can see the same sick pink flush that keeps coming up on his cheeks. He looks bizarre in this light, half his chin stuck out in rough dark stubble and half smeared with blood, and as Rhodey watches he picks up the razor again and turns resolutely towards the mirror, his hand wavering wildly as he approaches his cheek. 

“Here,” Rhodey says, stepping forward. He catches Tony’s hand and tugs the razor lightly away, then nods at the toilet. “Sit down.” 

Tony snorts. “I’m not a kid.” Rhodey begs to differ, but he isn’t here to argue, he’s here to shave this kid, this stupid sweet idiot who just happens to be a genius and Rhodey’s best friend in the world. 

“Sit down,” he says. “Tip your head back.” 

Tony, who’s shivering even though it’s easily 80 degrees in the Cactus King Suite, does as he’s told. Rhodey can feel his Adam’s apple jump as the razor touches his skin, but he keeps his hand steady, carefully steering around the cut on Tony’s left cheek and clearing away the stubble there. He works his way around Tony’s jaw, moving slowly so he doesn’t miss anything, so there’s nothing left behind to itch and so Tony’s shivering doesn’t mean any more cuts. He remembers college, Tony’s first year, thinking that somebody ought to show this kid how to shave himself properly. He figures at some point somebody did. 

The room’s quiet except for the slow scratch of the razor and the dripping faucet and Tony’s breathing, tight through his nose. His eyes are closed, but for a split second he opens them and meets Rhodey’s gaze, and Rhodey’s surprised, somehow, to see fear. 

_ They’re poisoning me, Rhodey. Tony was so quiet, so serious when he said it, leaning over his lavishly catered breakfast so nobody could hear but the two of them. He looked around again, fingers twitching on his fork, and moved his seat closer to Rhodey, and Rhodey can’t forget the look of terror when he turned back and whispered _ , _ I think Obie’s trying to kill me. _

He finishes up and puts the razor down, dragging a warm washcloth over Tony’s chin, flicking soap away from his ear. “That’s it, shrimp,” he says, “you’re finished.” 

Tony opens his eyes and sits up, blinking dumbly like he’s just been blasted here from the future. He twists around to look in the mirror and shrugs appreciatively, the pink fading just a little on his cheeks. “Thanks,” he says, meeting Rhodey’s eyes for a second in the mirror. 

They head back to bed, where the TV’s still playing, and Rhodey listens to Tony’s low breathing, waiting for it to even out and slow down. It never does, and Rhodey falls back asleep thinking about New York, and Obadiah Stane. 

> **Generalized Anxiety Disorder 7-Item (GAD-7) Scale**
> 
> **Participant ID:** 3928460
> 
> **Date:** 8/22/92 
> 
> _ Over the last 2 weeks, how often have you been bothered by the following problems? 0= Not at all; 1= Several days; 2= Over half the days; 3= Nearly every day _
> 
>   1. Feeling nervous, anxious, or on edge — 3 
>   2. Not being able to stop or control worrying — 1 
>   3. Worrying too much about different things — 1
>   4. Trouble relaxing — 3
>   5. Being so restless that it's hard to sit still — 3 
>   6. Becoming easily annoyed or irritable — 3
>   7. Feeling afraid as if something awful might happen — 3
> 
> Add the score for each column + + + 
> 
> Total Score (add your column scores) = 17 — Severe anxiety disorder, active treatment warranted

_ oklahoma. _

“Let’s take a detour.”

“What?”

It’s been a few hours since Tony’s said anything, since he lapsed into silence on the other side of the New Mexico border after 100 straight minutes of script ideas for Star Wars 4. In the meantime, Rhodey’s gotten into the rhythm of the road, tied up in the steady spool of gray-baked asphalt under his accelerator, so it takes a minute to shake out of his daze, and in that moment a semi thunders past on the left. He eases off on the accelerator, checks the gas tank, and asks, “Where to?”

Tony shrugs. “North.” He taps the map Rhodey picked up a hundred miles back at the first gas station in Oklahoma. “There’s a crater up there, in an oil field. I read about it in _ Scientific American _last year.” 

“A crater like a meteor?” Tony nods. 

“Any idea where this crater is?” Rhodey’s not exactly on a schedule, here, but he’s not exactly _ not _, and he’d rather not waste time on a wild goose chase for a piece of the cosmos when they could make the most of the last hours of daylight and get to Tulsa by nightfall. 

“No, but we’ll find it. There’ll be signs.” Tony waves Rhodey’s concerns away, shifts in his seat. “Pull over here anyway, I gotta pee.”

Of course he does. Rhodey’s pretty sure he’s now the foremost expert on every gas station on I-40 East, because rehab seems to have shrunk Tony’s bladder drastically. Like, Rhodey would be worried it was a medical issue if he didn’t see how much Mountain Dew the guy’s putting away. 

He still doesn’t want to drive. Rhodey’s fine with it, he’s good with not taking the interstate at 95 an hour, but he’s keeping a tally of things that don’t feel right, and that’s at the top of the list, right above _ I hate planes, Rhodey, let’s drive _. And now this detour. 

Tony takes twenty minutes in the Circle K bathroom, as usual, and comes out with two Mountain Dews and his hands chapped red from scrubbing them under the sink. He stretches out in the passenger seat, lights a cigarette, and squints over his shades at Rhodey. 

“Let’s find a meteor.” 

They peel off onto the highway and head east, as Tony unfolds the map of Oklahoma they picked up at a gas station fifty miles back, kicking his feet up and hunching over the fluttering paper so closely Rhodey’s afraid his cigarette is gonna catch the edge of the page. It turns out that Tony has a fair sense of direction for a guy who’s spent the entire sum of his life on one coast or the other, and Rhodey follows his instructions, taking the third exit off I-40 and veering north down a two-lane highway that seems to be headed nowhere, while Tony finishes his first Mountain Dew and explains the difference between an _ impact crater _ and an _ impact structure _. 

The highway turns into a country road, which turns into a series of twists and turns that Tony insists are a _ sign _, and Rhodey flips his sun visor to the left. The light’s catching on the dashboard, lighting up Tony’s watch as he lights another cigarette and rubs his temples. 

“Headache?” Rhodey asks, and Tony shrugs, takes another gulp of soda and rests his head on his knees, his big stupid sunglasses pushed up into his tangle of hair. 

They stop on a stretch of ground so unremarkable Rhodey’s sure Tony’s kidding when he bats at Rhodey’s arm and says here, stop here, this is it. It’s a vast field, just like the ones they’ve been driving past for miles, nothing but squat trees and chain-link and a dark wiry rig in the distance and dry scrub grass rippling off away from the sandy shoulder. But Tony insists, so they get out and walk down the gravel onto the bare prairie. 

“See,” Tony says, and cups his hands together on his forehead to shade his eyes as he stares out at what Rhodey can only describe as _ nothing _. “This has to be where it hit.” 

Rhodey stares into the distance where Tony’s looking, and tries to imagine what he’s seeing: maybe that ridge used to be the raw edge of a crater, maybe the pool of ironweed off to their right is the sunk saucer where the meteor burned away dirt and stone and raw earth millions of years ago. Or maybe Tony’s just tired and doesn’t really know where he’s going, doesn’t care as long as it’s not home. 

Beside him, Tony scuffs his shoe in the loose grass and drops to a squat, hugging his knees with one arm and digging his chapped fingers into the dusty soil. 

“It’s _ here _, Rhodey,” he insists. Rhodey nods. 

“Yeah, I see it.” A year ago, Tony would’ve been running up and down the field, yelling himself hoarse about terminal velocity and aerodynamic heating; he’d have been giddy over the fact that the dirt he’s trailing his fingers through is probably at least 1% interplanetary dust. Now he’s just sitting, blinking into the late light and holding his head gingerly like the effort of keeping it upright on his neck is too demanding. 

“I don’t—” He starts the sentence and doesn’t finish it, ducking his chin down onto his knees again, shaking his head rapidly as though he can dislodge the thought that almost made it out of his mouth. Rhodey drops down beside him, brushing dust off his jeans and letting the sunset warm his back. A gray lizard skitters away, grass twitching around him. Tony’s hands are shaking, and he jams them into his armpits so Rhodey can’t see. 

“I never saw a crater before,” Rhodey says. “Pretty cool.” Tony nods. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says softly. 

“You’re going home,” Rhodey says. “We’re going home.” 

Tony turns to rest his head on his crossed arms and watches Rhodey, scrunching his nose up like he’s working on a problem. “Why?” he asks, a little thickly. “I’m not—they won’t want me back, not like this. I can’t stay awake, Rhodey, I can’t—what am I gonna do, answer the phones? I’m not ready,” he says, and his voice sounds tiny beneath the open sky. 

“You’re gonna do fine,” Rhodey promises. It doesn’t feel like enough. 

They watch the sun set over the broad, soft ridges of grass, and Rhodey slings an arm around Tony’s skinny back as the first faint stars flicker up miles above them. If they drive through the night, Rhodey thinks, they can make Arkansas by morning. 

> **Physical Health Questionnaire (PHQ-15)**
> 
> **ID #:** 3928460 
> 
> **Date:** 08 / 29 / 92
> 
> During the past 7 days, how much have you been bothered by any of the following problems? 
> 
> 0= Not bothered at all; 1= Bothered a little; 2= Bothered a lot
> 
>   1. Stomach pain — 1
>   2. Back pain — 1 
>   3. Pain in your arms, legs, or joints (knees, hips, etc.) — 1
>   4. Menstrual cramps or other problems with your periods WOMEN ONLY — NA
>   5. Headaches — 2
>   6. Chest pain — 2
>   7. Dizziness — 2
>   8. Fainting spells — 1 
>   9. Feeling your heart pound or race — 2
>   10. Shortness of breath — 2
>   11. Pain or problems during sexual intercourse — 1
>   12. Constipation, loose bowels, or diarrhea — 1
>   13. Nausea, gas, or indigestion — 2
>   14. Feeling tired or having low energy — 2
>   15. Trouble sleeping — 2
> 
> (For office coding: Total Score T=23/30)

_ Kentucky. _

When they crossed the Tennessee border at 7 this morning, Rhodey was feeling optimistic: two hours up to , then east to the border by lunchtime, on through West Virginia and it should’ve been easy time to Baltimore. Rest up there, catch some sleep, talk Tony through his last jitters, and tomorrow they could be having dinner on the Upper West Side, courtesy of the Stark Industries executive expense account. Rhodey wants that. Rhodey _ deserves _ that. 

Except some idiot crashed into the median on I-65 around 7:45, and Rhodey’s been sitting behind a Buick with a rusty bumper and two “Honk If You Love Jesus!” stickers for the past hour. Traffic’s backed up for miles; when he tuned into 540 AM, word was that cars were stopped as far as Park City, and Rhodey’s given up any hope of reaching Maryland at a reasonable hour tonight. He’s keeping his eye on the gas and watching his mirrors for idiots, and praying that the cleanup happens sooner rather than later. 

Tony’s reaction to all of this was, in sequence, to panic, rage, drum passionately on the dashboard, roll down his window to lean out and yell at a lady in a Pontiac Astre who passed too close on the right until Rhodey finally grabbed his collar and hauled him back in, and then fall asleep. He’s still sleeping, his head pillowed on Rhodey’s jacket and his left arm tucked awkwardly up against himself. Rhodey, who heard him up and pacing the narrow hotel room last night, doesn’t begrudge him the rest. He’s also, quite frankly, relieved to endure this in relative peace, without the benefit of Tony’s color commentary. 

The Buick, for the 400th time, rolls forward a single inch, then stops. Rhodey eases up off the gas, taps back down on the brakes, and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. He thinks idly about working his way over to the right lane, getting off at the next exit, and finding the nearest cheeseburger, something with bacon, maybe. In the passenger seat, Tony grumbles in his sleep, thumping his knee against the car door, and Rhodey thinks about what he said at the invisible crater two days ago, about not being ready, about Obie not wanting him back. He thinks about Tony, fifteen years old and irate, explaining to Rhodey why one of the country’s leading experts in robotics was an idiot not to hire him as an assistant in his lab, and wonders if Tony has ever trusted himself the right amount. 

A spot opens up in the right lane ahead, and Rhodey’s turned on his blinker, about to ease into the spot, when Tony kicks the dashboard with such force it shakes the car a little and sits up on a raspy yell, breathing fast and hard. Rhodey pauses, foot on the brake; Tony’s shaking, sweat on his forehead and hands gripping his chest so hard his knuckles are pale. 

“Hey,” Rhodey says, one eye on the road and one on Tony, “hey, it’s okay, bad dream.” 

“No,” Tony chokes, closing his eyes and opening them and closing them again. He shoves himself back in his seat, like he’s bracing for some kind of impact at 0.1 miles per hour, gags a little, and holds his breath. 

There are cars honking behind them now; Rhodey pulls forward a little and reaches out for Tony’s shoulder, squeezing tentatively. “You’re okay,” he says, “you fell asleep, we’re still in traffic.” Tony’s eyes are still screwed shut. He’s breathing through his nose, still too fast, still catching in his throat on every inhale, and Rhodey can feel him shuddering. 

“Pull over,” he hisses, and Rhodey says, “No, I can’t,” and Tony pops the passenger door open and jumps outside to vomit once, spit, and haul himself back inside. He tugs his shirt up over his face and hunches forward, face in his knees and back still shaking, as Rhodey does his best to follow traffic, which has chosen this convenient moment to start moving.

“I was,” Tony gasps, his voice muffled in his shirt, “I was, I thought, Jesus, he was trying, I couldn’t stop it, I was trying to wake up but I couldn’t _ breathe _ , I couldn’t get his— _ hands _—” Out of the corner of his eye Rhodey can see him clawing at his throat, cupping his hands over the back of his neck where the bruises faded a week ago. 

“I’m gonna pull over as soon as I can,” he tells Tony, “we’re close to an exit, I’ll find a place to stop.” He doesn’t know if it’s true, and they’re still doing closer to 30 than 65, but he puts on his blinker and muscles his way into the right lane, then tosses Tony a water bottle from the cooler between their seats. 

They pull over at the first exit Rhodey can find, a little rest stop with bright blue picnic tables and a squat concrete building for the bathrooms. Rhodey sends Tony inside and waits out on a picnic table, stretching his cramped legs and listening to the birds squabbling in the hornbeams. 

Tony re-emerges almost an hour later, just when Rhodey’s starting to get worried. His shirt is soaked down the middle, his hair’s bristling with water, and he’s sporting the shades again. Rhodey notices scratches on the side of his neck and decides not to ask. 

“Ready to hit the road?” he asks. Tony shrugs. 

“I guess.” 

It doesn’t sound enthusiastic. In fact, nothing about Tony reads as enthusiastic, from his sopping shirt to the raw skin on his hands to the way he’s chewing his lip, or the slight hunch of his back, like even standing up right now is more of an effort than he has in him. 

“Want a Mountain Dew for the road?” Rhodey asks, nodding towards the vending machines by the building entrance, already digging in his pocket for quarters. 

“_ No _ ,” Tony snaps, so harshly Rhodey’s surprised he got that much venom into a single syllable. “No, Rhodey, I don’t want fucking soda, I want—” He pauses and swings around to kick the picnic table as hard as he can, twice, hard enough Rhodey imagines hearing bone crunch on concrete. “Cocaine,” he finishes, panting a little, “I want _ cocaine _ , Rhodey, I want a lot of it and I don’t have any, I’m not _ allowed _ to want it anymore but I want it and I don’t want any more fucking Mountain fucking Dew, I,” —one more breath— “fucking goddamn cocksucker Jesus _ fucking _ Christ cunt fucking Jesus fuck _ fuck. _” 

He stops for air, bent over a little, then straightens up and limps towards the car. Rhodey waits a few minutes, giving him time, then follows. Tony’s slumped back in the front seat, still breathing a little hard, his sunglasses pushed up so that Rhodey can see the angry red line where they sat on his nose. 

“Wanna talk, or just drive?” Rhodey asks. Tony doesn’t answer for a minute, just stares intently at the dancing leaves of the yellowwood outside, his jaw set hard. 

“Rhodey?” he says finally, not taking his eyes off the windshield. 

“Yeah?” 

“My dad drank too much.” This is not news to Rhodey, who once saw Howard Stark, at a birthday party, mistake two different waitresses for his wife, but it is the first time he’s heard Tony say as much out loud. 

“Yeah, he did.” 

Tony nods. “I know that. Everybody knows that. He was a drunk, he was, he drank all the time and sometimes he, you know, he threw things and stuff.” He takes a deep shaky breath and turns to look at Rhodey. “But he wasn’t like me.” 

Rhodey has to agree. Howard was nothing like Tony, and that’s why he likes Tony. 

“Rhodey,” Tony says, and Rhodey can hear that he’s right on the verge of crying, “I don’t think you can be Chief Engineer at Stark Industries when you’re like me. Like this.” 

“Yes, you can,” Rhodey tells him. Tony’s actually crying now, although he’s turned forwards again and he’s swiping at his face so Rhodey can’t see. “Maybe not right now, maybe not this year—but Tony, you’re twenty-two, you’ve got time.” Tony snorts, and Rhodey knows that twenty-two isn’t young to a guy whose dad founded the company that built the atom bomb when he was twenty-three, but he also doesn’t really care. 

“You’re the CEO,” he tells Tony. “Or you can be, in two days.”

“He won’t—” Tony starts, and Rhodey shakes his head. 

“You’re the CEO, not Obie. It’s your dad’s company, Tony, it’s _ STARK _ industries, not Stane. He works for _ you _ , not the other way around. Forget about what he wants, what he’s gonna agree to, what do _ you _ want?” 

Tony has to think. He takes the sunglasses off his head and sits turning them in his hands, as if Armani somehow encoded life advice into the frames that he can read if he just squints hard enough. He wipes his nose and says, “Well. Cocaine.” He glances at Rhodey and laughs a little in a way Rhodey can’t quite read, then turns back to his glasses, frowns and adds, “And I want to. Maybe. There’s this thing, it’s a, I guess you’d say it’s a laser with an electromagnetic pulse, well, the pulse and a kind of plasma explosion; we were trying to develop something back before Dad—anyways. The theory says you could harness that, turn it into a targeted gun, take a guy down without killing him.”

“Like Star Trek,” Rhodey says. 

“Exactly like Star Trek,” Tony agrees. “Anyway, the project tanked after Dad died but I still have the research and while I was up there, in there, I mean I had nothing fucking else to do, so I drew up some specs for a prototype and I thought maybe. Yeah. That’s what I want to do.” 

“So,” Rhodey says, putting the key in the ignition, “we have a plan.” Tony looks less than confident, but he nods. As Rhodey pulls out of the parking lot, he reaches over and turns the radio up, leaning back against his seat and closing his eyes. 

“Tell me more about this plasma gun,” Rhodey says as they merge onto the highway. 

“Technically it’s a pulsed energy projectile,” Tony corrects him swiftly, and _ that’s _ the Tony Rhodey knows. They talk about the gun for the next hundred miles, while Nirvana plays and the car heats up and the scratches on Tony’s neck fade out of sight. 

> **Desire for Substances Questionnaire**
> 
> **Agency Name: **Betty Ford Foundation 
> 
> **Site Name:** Betty Ford Treatment Center 
> 
> **ID #:** 3928460 
> 
> **Date:** 09 / 02 / 92 
> 
> **STAFF USE ONLY **
> 
>   1. Identify the substance dependence for which the participant is being treated at this clinic. 
> 
> □ Downers or Sedatives (Barbiturates, etc.)
> 
> ☑ Benzos (Valium, Xanax, etc.)
> 
> □ Hallucinogens (including ecstasy)
> 
> ☑ Alcohol
> 
> □ Heroin or other Opiates (Morphine, etc.)
> 
> □ Marijuana
> 
> ☑ Stimulants (cocaine, amphetamine)- _PRIMARY_
> 
> □ Other (specify): _________________________________ 
> 
> Please answer the following questions with regard to your craving for the primary drug.

  1. > The INTENSITY of my craving, that is, how much I desired this drug in the past 24 hours was: _Extreme (4)_

  2. > The FREQUENCY of my craving, that is, how often I desired this drug in the past 24 hours was: _Almost constantly (4) _

  3. > The LENGTH of time I spent in craving this drug during the past 24 hours was: _Very long (4) _

  4. > Write in the NUMBER of times you think you had a craving for this drug during the past 24 hours. _A thousand_

_ new york. _

In the end, Obadiah goes gently. Like a snake would, Rhodey thinks, beaming like Tony taking back the CEO’s office was his plan all along, clapping his shoulder and telling him how proud his old man would be that he’s finally making something of himself, how much Tony’s recent exploits would have broken his heart. 

Rhodey’s watching the press conference from his hotel room, and Tony’s at the podium in a thousand dollar suit talking about how his dad was always about _ legacy _, about the energy and momentum behind this new push into non-lethal technologies, and Rhodey is so proud of him he could shout, but he can’t take his eyes off Obadiah Stane. Even with the apple box Rhodey’s sure is stashed behind the podium there’s no way to hide how he dwarfs Tony, hovering behind him and still a head taller and twice as broad. Rhodey wishes he could be there in person to punch the patronizing smirk off his face, but his train leaves Penn Station at 2:00. It’s obvious to Rhodey, and he hopes it isn’t to Tony, that Obadiah has no concerns that this new executive impulse of Tony’s will outlast his next craving.

  
“In the end,” Tony says, as _ PRODIGAL SON _ crawls past him on the news ticker, “this is about the future.”

**Author's Note:**

> astrobleme, n. 1960s: from Greek astron ‘star’ + blēma ‘wound’. an eroded remnant of a large crater made by the impact of a meteorite or comet.


End file.
